Trails Gone Cold
by DealingDearie
Summary: Sif can't let herself believe that Loki is dead, even after watching him fall into the abyss, and sets out on a journey to find him for the sake of her loved ones and, possibly, for the sake of her own sanity.
1. Chapter 1

Sif had taken Loki's death far better than the royal family, and yet far worse than the rest of the citizens of Asgard. They all but celebrated immodestly, stifling their relief with masks of sympathetic grief.

It was for the best, really-that was the thought flashing across all of their faces, the idea shining in their falsely tearful gazes.

She felt that everyone could see the secret, quiet happiness, and that was the worst thing of all.

For the family to know, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that the rest of the kingdom enjoyed Loki's demise was an awful concept, indeed, and Sif cringed internally as she recalled Frigga's tears, her sorrowful collapse as they'd all gazed fearfully out the window, watching the Bifrost fall into oblivion just as Loki had dangled precariously above it, emerald cape billowing about his body as he clutched Gungnir in his hand, gazing up at Thor and Odin.

The queen had been reluctant to watch, but equally so to turn away, and Sif had stood by her side, breath held as Loki'd let go, falling and vanishing into the void, Frigga's cries of anguish matching the distant sound of Thor's own as the woman had fallen upon the floor, screaming into her palms as she'd curled in on herself.

Tears might just have dotted Sif's face, as well.

And now, for them all to treat such a tragic turn of events as a mere joke, for them all to practically mock it, made Sif's blood boil with rage. But even then, there was the tiniest, most insignificant little voice murmuring in the back of her head, the epitome of all her doubts and fears whispering to her in soft, lilting tones that sent chills snaking up her spine.

There was something oddly _wrong_ with it all, something she couldn't just ignore and turn away from. It haunted her, after the feast and after that first night without Loki in the world. It followed her closely into the sparring court the next day, and shone brightly in the spot where Thor would have been, in the spot that he always stood, in the spot that he was slowly, and with great sadness, leaving behind him. It was all changing, now, and she felt it in the air just as much as she felt the doubt at her back, and she desperately wanted to know_why._

She wanted to glean from Loki his motives, wanted with a burning, growing desire to know why he had relinquished his hold on both the staff and his life, wanted to know why in all of the realms he'd turned his back on everything he'd ever known.

She wanted, perhaps more than anything, to figure out the glint of reserved, aged sadness in Odin's eye, wanted to shout at him and ask him why he wasn't grieving like Frigga and Thor. She wanted to erase Frigga's pain, yearning to soothe the only person closest to a mother figure that she had in her life, and she wanted to go to Thor and apologize. She wanted to wrap her arms around him and wipe away his tears, wanted to eradicate his grief and let the sunlight pour in from the curtains. It was all so unbearable, but she was forced to carry the burden of her desires day in and day out, and after a month of it she was left hopeless and aching and empty somewhere within herself, lacking something she'd never known she had.

That void opening within her, and the voice still describing to her all of the things that were awry with the entire situation, made her desperate to rid herself of it. Thor's continuous retreat and Frigga's constant sobs were more often than not ignored, if only for the sake of Sif's sanity as she tried to deny the pain swelling within her own grieving heart. She'd harbored conflicted thoughts about Loki for years, and his betrayal only confirmed the suspicion that had been growing within her, but there remained the nagging feeling that it_couldn't be so easy_.

It couldn't be that simple.

Loki, the man that had gotten them all out of many a tricky situation, the man that was always twenty steps ahead, the man that had mastered words and lies alike at a very early age, couldn't have just _vanished_.

He couldn't simply be written out of existence, taken down at his own hand, torn from the pages of legend and myth for the rest of time.

_It was insane_. It was impossible.

And yet, it was the reality. Sif woke during some hot, cruel night beneath the moon's gentle glow, eyes wide open as she sat up in her bed, tangled in the sheets sticking to her sweat-soaked skin, the memory of nightmares fresh in her mind, her pulse racing as she panted heavily.

There it was again: _doubt._

Suddenly, it seemed so clear, so painfully obvious, and she ripped the sheets off of her body to hop up and run to her closet, trading her nightclothes in for her undergarments and armor, preparing herself in the midst of the hot night air before wrapping her favorite cloak about her shoulders.

She made sure to pack food and extra clothes, added a few of her most cherished weapons into the mix, and made her bed, slowly and meticulously, in a near-savoring kind of way, and walked out of her chambers, closing the door behind her and making sure to lock it.

Standing before the palace, which glittered in the moonlight, she felt her shoulders weighted and her breaths burdened, felt the heavy implications of her actions, but she wasn't abandoning Asgard, as most would think.

She would never abandon her home.

She only wanted to ease Thor's pain, to soothe Frigga's mourning heart, to pull from Odin some sort of emotion other than impassivity.

It was, too, a mission to help herself, to let her discover the logic, the reasoning, behind Loki's actions, to let her figure out for herself if she would ever truly grieve him, to let her know if he was really dead-which, she knew, she would never believe.

So, she tightened her cloak more snuggly about her body, lifting the cowl to cast her features in shadow, and turned to make her way to the end of the rainbow bridge, where a figure stood, tall and immovable and as stoic as ever, but as familiar to her as her own conflicted heart.

**Based on an idea given by fyeahlokisif over on Tumblr. **

**Please R&R! Feedback of any kind is always appreciated! ;)**

**All rights go to their respective owners.**


	2. Chapter 2

He was waiting for her, shoulders held high as he glanced down at the colored galaxies before him, golden swirls of light dancing in his irises, and she came to stand beside him, leather boots sliding over the bridge's slick surface as she, too, glanced out at the cosmos, wide eyes taking in the possibility that somewhere, somehow, Loki was lost within it, alive and whole and, she hoped, unbroken.

"You will only find despair, wherever you go," Heimdall murmured softly in that deep, low voice she knew so well, his gaze fixed while she stared at him, head tilted.

"Or perhaps I might find him," she returned, and he finally turned to look at her, watching the way her eyes darted over his face, her gaze looking so hopeful and more innocent than he'd seen it look in centuries, and he shook his head sadly.

"Whatever closure you find will be tainted with grief, no matter the circumstance," he warned her seriously, the corners of his lips pulled down, and she laid a gentle, light hand on his arm. Her touch, though almost foreign after so long without it, brought to the forefront of his mind a slew of aged memories, ones taken from times long gone and ancient years now almost forgotten.

"But it will be closure, and that's all I need."

She smiled at him, a near bittersweet gesture that almost brought tears to her eyes, and squeezed his arm reassuringly before turning away to walk hastily down the bridge, her cloak trailing after her gracefully as he watched her leave, her dark hair loose and flowing in waves behind her head, victim strands carried in the wind.

"Be safe, sister," he whispered to the empty air as her form faded into the distance, and he wondered, forlornly, why her departing words had felt all too similar to a goodbye.

…

Frigga's presence was a welcome one, warm and motherly and amused at most times, as if the world housed some hilarious joke that only she was privy to, and Sif was eager to speak with her as the queen nonchalantly went around her room, tidying the sheets upon the bed and smiling down at the pillows.

Fleetingly, Sif wondered why a maid wasn't doing that, but she'd given up trying to make sense of Frigga and her motives long ago, when Loki had, oddly enough, almost adopted her quirks and twisted them around to even greater mysterious proportions, amplifying them and making her question the sanity of the royal family.

But the queen was calm, and steady, and extremely sympathetic, and for this reason Sif waited patiently as the woman went about her routine, finally stopping to sit upon the chair before the large fireplace, basking in the heat coming from the dancing, crackling flames as she looked imploringly to the warrior maiden.

Sif took a slow, deep breath and smiled politely in return, but the severity of her next words caused her smile to melt away, and she was left staring, her expression empty.

"I need passage from Asgard," she said quietly, and Frigga's eyes widened the slightest, the smallest hint that she was surprised, and she stood to walk over near the fire, casting her hands out in front of it absently.

"You wish to find him."

It wasn't exactly a question, but Sif responded anyway, softly and with respect, all too aware of the stifled grief in the woman's voice.

"Yes, I do." Frigga turned her head to throw Sif a sideways glance, one filled with doubt and sadness and even pity, and she sighed.

"Loki is dead, Lady Sif. Any search for him would be futile," she explained, and her eyes, such aged, knowing eyes, gleamed with tears. Remorseful, Sif shook her head in apology, and bowed her head, averting her gaze to allow Frigga time to compose herself.

"I must try, no matter the outcome. I fear for my sanity otherwise, my queen," Sif murmured, explaining in an almost desperate tone how she couldn't just _not_look for Loki.

She didn't mention that it was for the benefit of all, and instead focused on the more selfish aspect of her mission, looking up again to see Frigga, her hands clasped together before her, smiling woefully as she shook her head, stray curls of golden hair shaking with the movement.

"Will you help me?" Sif asked gently, standing to reach out as Frigga held open her palms. Her fingers, warm from the fire, heated Sif's cold skin, and she smiled in gratitude as Frigga nodded, tears lighting her eyes a bright, familiar blue, akin to Thor's own eyes.

She thought of Thor, then, and of all that she was, for the moment, leaving behind her, but pushed it to the back of her mind, burying it in her thoughts, as Frigga made a slashing gesture with her arm, and a portal appeared before them, more like a tear in the dimension than anything else, and green light traced its jagged edges, the tell-tale sign of magic.

She glanced to the queen, who retracted her hold to squeeze Sif's bared arms, smiling in that way of hers that had always calmed Sif, even at a young age.

"I'll make sure your absence isn't scrutinized," she reassured quietly, and Sif caught the teasing, mirthful tone in her voice, so similar to Loki's own that a wave of nostalgia came over her, mixed with grief that she quickly ignored, fearful of feeling too much too soon, "and dear, be safe."

Giving her one last glance, Frigga backed away slowly, keeping the worry from her eyes long enough for Sif to step into the portal-she closed her eyes, holding her breath, all too aware of her racing pulse and fluttering stomach-and disappear in a flash of light, the tear resealing instantly, vanishing like it had never been there at all.

**Please R&R! Feedback of any kind is always appreciated! ;)**


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